“I don’t doubt you, but there’s no record. No archives, no nothing.”
“Why the hell would they do that?” Jake asked, more to himself than to John.
“We both know a couple of groups who could answer that one.”
They sat in silence for a moment until John spoke.
“Paul thinks the outbreak in China is mouse pox?”
Jake shrugged. “He’s heard some things. Said the disease has killed a lot of people and Shandong Province is quarantined. Now there’s a travel ban. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
John leaned back in his chair, a concerned look on his face.
“What's wrong?” Jake asked.
“Wrong? What the fuck could be wrong? Everything sounds just peachy, doesn’t it?”
“Pretty scary.”
“I never expected to find what I did, Jake.”
The big man leaned in, a serious look on his face. “My inquiries could attract some attention.”
Jake just nodded, saying nothing.
“They can’t link my questions to you, but you’d better lay low. Too many people’ve been disappearing.”
“I will. Assuming this is mouse pox, how do you think it would surface here and now?”
The big man considered for a moment.
“I’d say it was an accident or some whack job, but they’ve been predicting a pandemic for years now. If it showed up naturally in Panama once...maybe civilization finally rolled snake eyes.”
“That was our thinking, too.”
“Let’s get in touch with this Dr. Bryce in St. Louis.”
“And there’s one more, right?” Jake asked.
“The last doctor,” John said as he leafed through his notes, “is Dr. Evans who is in a mental institute in Washington D.C. I’ll look into that too.”
“Thanks, John. I owe you one.”
“One? Hell, Jake, you might owe me two or three before this is over. I’m thinking I know who’s picking up the check!”
“Somebody mention the check?” Amy said as she walked up with the food.
“Yeah. Jake here insists it’s on him, doll.”
“That’s nice of him.” Amy said as she cleared some room at their table. “Anything else guys?”
“No we’re good.”
The two men finished eating and discussed strategy, but Jake was ready to go. It was a four hour drive back down I-95 and with all he’d learned, he wasn’t comfortable leaving June Leslie and the kids alone.
“Let’s go for a walk and pick up those toys you asked for.”
“I knew you’d come through.”
“Don’t forget who you’re talking to. I even got you a surprise.”
Jake stood up and downed the last of his beer, and the two of them walked over to John's office. It was in an old three-story brick building. The plaque on the door read JR Investigations.
Jake wasn't long in the second floor office. He exited the Harrison St. door facing the Ghana House Imports, carrying two black leather bags, one in each hand to balance the weight. He slipped to the corner and walked back to the cafe where his truck was parked under the Coca-Cola mural. He threw the bags onto the passenger side floor and walked around to the driver’s side.
He pulled a cell phone from the pocket of his jean jacket and began to dial.
Chapter 11
Spears of sunlight pierced the clouds for the first time that gray November day. The windshield intensified the warmth of the sun, heating the cab of the truck.
About time, Jake thought, as he tilted the visor down to cut the glare. He knew twilight could be an extremely dangerous time to drive. Spring Lake sat poised on the edge of darkness, and street lights were beginning to flicker on.
Pope Air force Base was close by with its runways already lit up like a football field. Occasionally a transport plane could be heard or a squadron of fighter jets would streak across the sky as the air force ran nighttime flight exercises. Most folks in the area were connected to the military out of Pope Air force Base or Ft. Bragg in one way or another and were used to the activity. They looked on it all with a sense of pride.
Jake pulled up to the garage and dragged himself from the truck, the two black gym bags in tow. Bags that he knew would make June very uncomfortable.
Robert had always kept guns in the house, but June might consider this a little excessive. He set the bags down and stepped into the garage, hitting the light switch with his elbow.
Two banks of florescent lights flickered on, illuminating the workshop garage that was organized with the same military structure and meticulous order as Robert's journals. Everything in its place.
Everything had been Robert’s, but Jake used it now and continued to keep things tidy. There was a compressor, pneumatic air tools, vices, car ramps, and hand tools; a full mechanics tool box. A 4’x8’ pegboard was fastened to the back wall with pipe wrenches, levels and larger hand tools neatly hung, their shapes outlined with black marker.
“Jake?” Leslie said, poking her head in the door.
“Come in kiddo. Did you get hold of Paul?”
“Yes,” Leslie answered. She seemed to be in better spirits than she had been this morning when Jake had left her. “He’s catching the flight out of Dusseldorf. He should be landing at Dulles around two this morning.”
“I hope he got some sleep on the plane.”
“Not a wink. Said the Hercules was loud and uncomfortable.”
“C-130?” Jake laughed. “That it is.”
“At least he’s on his way back to U.S. soil.”
“Can’t wait to see him. You picking him up at Dulles?”
“He just wants to grab a room in DC and then catch a plane to Raleigh in the morning.”
“Need some company?”
“Love some.”
“Kids going?”
Leslie shook her head. “Mom’s going to watch them.”
All of this casual conversation was starting to get to Leslie, but she waited for Jake to tell her about his visit with John. When he called from Richmond he sounded a little off.
Jake climbed the stairs to his apartment and Leslie followed. He set the bags down on the landing and unlocked the door.
“Let me take one of those, Jake.”
“I'm all right. Keeps me balanced.” He grabbed the handles before Leslie could reach for them. He knew she was curious, and she knew he knew, but they continued their delicate dance.
Jake entered his apartment. It wasn’t much, but it was cozy. His living quarters consisted of one main room with a small bathroom and a tiny kitchen with barely enough room to open the refrigerator door. A cathedral ceiling utilized the roofline and a dormer window overlooked the driveway from the kitchen. The bed was at the end of the living room, hidden by a half wall with a love seat against it.
Jake sank into the worn cushions of the love seat and closed his eyes.
“You all right Jake?” Leslie asked, leaning past him to turn on the table lamp.
“Sore, but I'll live. Been a while since I've spent nine hours in the truck.”
They sat silently until Leslie could wait no longer.
“Had an interesting meeting with John,” Jake said, leaning forward and emptying the contents of the bags onto the coffee table.
Two 9mm Berettas.
Leslie raised an eyebrow. “Tell me.”
“John still has his military contacts,” Jake said, as he pulled several clips from the bag and put them next to the Berettas.
He was stalling.
The M9 Berretta was standard army issue. It had a light-weight aluminum frame and a black matte finish. All business. It took 9mm NATO rounds, fifteen to a clip. The gun weighed a mere two-and-a-half pounds fully loaded.
“That's the same gun Dad was issued,” Leslie said.
“Same Italian hardware. Steel slide opens for nearly the entire length of the barrel, makes for easy ejection of the shell casings.”
“English, Jake.”
> “Less jamming,” he said as he reached in and retrieved the next handgun. It had a blue steel finish with black polymer grips. The entire thing was only 5.07 inches long. The tiny Kel-Tec P-32 was a true palm pistol, a semi-automatic that would be easy to conceal.
“Arming the kids now?”
“You never know. John thought it might come in handy.”
Jake gripped the internal slide lock safety and checked the pull on the double action trigger. It felt tight and would take 6.4 pounds of pressure to pull.
He pulled out boxes and boxes of bullets and more magazines as Leslie watched in growing alarm.
“Jesus, Jake. Are we going to war?”
“Hope not, but...”
Jake pulled out the special surprise that John had for him.
It was a Sig Sauer P-226 x Five Competition. Stainless steel frame with black polymer beaver-tail grips. It was a big, dirty piece of work which John had equipped with a boatload of 40 cal Smith and Wesson mags as well as 9mm mags. The .40 caliber mags held fourteen bullets plus one in the chamber. The 9mm mags held eighteen plus one in the chamber.
Jake held the gun up and looked down the sights at an imaginary target on the wall.
“Holy shit,” Leslie exclaimed, “is that all you got?”
“Except for my rifles and your dad’s guns.”
“His Beretta’s still in the house, I think.”
“Already got it. Your mother wanted it out of the house.”
Leslie stared at the hardware, nonplussed. Finally she found her voice and told Jake what she knew.
“Paul tried to get some confirmation from the World Health Organization in Bonn.”
“And?”
“They refused comment, said to watch CNN but a young guy on the flight from China all but confirmed it.”
“What guy?” Jake asked.
“Nobody important, just some young guy with the UN who probably believes the keep ‘em in the dark and feed ‘em shit shouldn’t apply here.”
“At least he’s on his way home, but I’ll feel better when we’re all together.”
“Me, too. CNN says the disease is spreading, so the military pulled back and now Jiangsu Province and Anhui are closed.”
“Jesus! How many dead?”
“China's being very tight lipped. They’ve expelled all media.”
“Have the kids been watching?”
“Mom's kept them busy today.”
“Good.”
“I checked my contacts trying to locate these doctors. They all seem to be dead or missing. What did John dig up?”
“About the same, but he’s got a theory. He thinks the missing doctors were scooped up by the military or CIA, likely classified because of their involvement in Panama.”
“Is there any way to find them?”
“He's working on it. One doctor was with USAMRID but he retired to Australia. Last known whereabouts was Canberra, but he has a son who’s a doctor at St. Louis University. Guess what he does?”
“Teaches?”
“He's a researcher in the same field as his dad.”
“Interesting,” Leslie mused.
“I thought so, too. Maybe finishing his dad’s work. There’s also a doctor in a mental hospital in DC. John’s going to visit him.”
“Does he think there's something there?”
“He’s hoping because he’s the only one whose whereabouts we’re sure of.”
“Then there are the five who died.” Leslie said.
“Did you notice anything strange about those deaths?”
“All accidents but one,” Leslie answered.
“Exactly.”
Jake paused, unsure as to how he should proceed. Leslie read the concern in his eyes and pleaded, “Tell me.”
Jake didn’t know if it was the right thing to do, but it was the truth, and she deserved to hear it.
“They all died in 2004,” he said.
“The same year as dad’s hit and run?”
Leslie's chin quivered and tears began to well up in her eyes.
“I’m sorry, honey.”
“No. Don’t do that,” Leslie said. “So they may all be connected.”
Jake nodded.
“Why?”
“I don't know, Leslie,” Jake said.
Leslie’s tears stopped, her eyes narrowed, and her cheekbones cut with rage.
Leslie now knew that someone, probably within the government, had ordered her father’s murder. She just didn’t know why.
But she was going to find out.
Chapter 12
Paul stumbled out of Dulles Airport to a line of cabs. He was grateful to be back on U.S. soil but felt like he’d left his kidneys and legs on that damn plane somewhere between Beijing and Bonn. He was excited to see Leslie and the kids but his body was too rebellious to continue the last leg to Raleigh. As he talked to the cab driver he realized his speech was slurred and his words were running together. The cabbie seemed to ignore his drunken behavior and recommended the Gateway Marriot on Jefferson Davis Highway near Reagan National Airport. Paul was able to squeeze in five hours sleep, haunted by the roar of that damned Hercules.
“The breakfast of champions,” Paul said to himself as he ate a honey-glazed doughnut and washed it down with his second Red Bull.
Leslie would kill me.
Paul boarded a ten o'clock out of Reagan National Airport aboard an American Airlines Eagle bound for Raleigh-Durham International and landed at RDU an hour and five minutes after taking off.
The passengers of flight 87 disembarked at the newly built Terminal Two.
Paul had been in China nearly a month and his hair had grown long and wavy, more salt now than pepper. He was unshaven and attempted to hide the bags under his eyes with a dark pair of Ray-Ban driving glasses. He looked like a surly rock star as he stumbled out of the arrival gate.
“Paul!” Leslie yelled, trying to get his attention.
Their eyes met and Paul knifed his way out of the flow of passengers. He kissed her deeply, savoring her taste and scent, never wanting the moment to end. When they finally broke, all she could do was marvel at his wild appearance.
“Look at you!” Leslie said, brushing her fingers through the sides of his hair, tugging gently on the back which was now near shoulder length and riding up on the collar of his jacket.
“You like it?” Paul asked as he put his hand out to Jake.
Jake shook his hand and pulled him into a hug, slapping his back. “It’s good to have you home.”
“Good to be home. I thought the kids would be with you?”
“Mom is watching them. I thought it would give us time to talk.”
“Good, “Paul said.
They grabbed Paul’s bags and continued their chit-chat as they exited the airport doors. They walked past a statue of a big red wolf, one of many found around the airport which symbolized the reinstatement of the red wolf into the wilds of North Carolina.
Leslie looked at the wolf, its fearsome visage rendered calm and benevolent by the sculptor and whatever state agency had commissioned it. She wondered if the wolves themselves would agree with such a description.
“Things are more dangerous than they seem,” she said, almost to herself.
But Jake had heard, and the irony of the statement gnawed at him. A nervous smile crossed his face.
“We're over there,” Leslie said, pointing out the Cadillac Escalade. She drew her jacket in tight. She could feel winter coming on.
Jake opened the back door. “Let me get that other bag, Paul.”
Jake threw Paul’s bags in when his cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his jean jacket and flipped it open as he settled into the back seat.
“Jake.”
"It’s John. Can you talk?”
“Leslie and I are just leaving the airport in Raleigh with Paul in tow.”
“Should I call back?”
“I filled her in last night.”
Leslie looked at Jake in t
he rear view.
“All right,” John said.
Jake had always been a straight shooter, whereas John had been known to embellish. He was a big man with stories to match. A natural bullshitter, which could be a valuable asset for a private detective.
“I went out to Walter Reed to see our Dr. Evans,” John continued.
“What’d you find out?” Jake asked, eliciting another look from Leslie.
“He’s old, frail, a buck-forty soaking wet, sitting outside in a little courtyard wearing a ratty-ass bathrobe and talking to a fucking squirrel. Jesus.”
“What’d he say, John?”
Usually Jake liked John’s colorful storytelling, but he was anxious to hear the news and Leslie was burning a hole in the mirror.
“I’m getting to it. They weren't even going to let me see him till I told them I’d been an MP.”
Jake sighed. He should have known better than to rush John. Now the story would be at least twice as long.
“So I walk up on him,” John continued, “nice and easy with my hands showing cause he looks like he’ll spook, but before I can get a fuckin’ word out, he points at me like I was a god damn pod person and screams, ‘One of them!’”
“One of who?”
“Damned if I know. Told him I was there on behalf of a client, just a few questions, the usual shit, but he clams up tighter than a snare drum, closes his eyes, and starts rocking back and forth like a fucking retard. Even his pet squirrel ran off. Thought I was gonna have to go back and tell the orderly to sedate the sumbitch.” John said chuckling.
“So you got nothing?”
“Who the hell you think you’re talking to? I leaned in real close so’s he could almost taste the Aqua Velva, and I whispered your name in his ear.”
Jake laughed in spite of himself at the image.
“Sure enough, he stops rocking and opens his eyes. Looks right at me, calm as a banker’s son, and says, I shit you not, ‘I always liked him.’”
“You’re kidding. He remembers me?”
“You were the magic ticket, brother. Loose lipped fucker wouldn’t shut up about you. Says you two met in quarantine in Panama.”
“What else did he say?” Jake asked. “This might be what they were looking for.”
Playing God Page 7